Hour 24

Rico kicked back on the florid pearl-white couch in her common area as he commented, "Nice place you got here." Emi stood between him and the front door making certain she had a quick escape available to her if she needed it. Her arms were defensively close to her upper body as she held her phone and questioned him, "How did you know my number?" Rico, who had started munching on his apple in one hand, answered through his phone in the other, "I forced it out of Sasha last game; I threatened him not to tell you, though, so he didn't betray you or anything." Emi remembered the call Sasha had received right after she had lost her hearing, and she connected the dots. "You were watching us?" She asked with a suggestion of further distrust brewing in her attitude. He spoke between bites of his apple, "Yeah, I sure was. I saw him draw his number in the ground and heard you exchange names, even confirming you were both on team 14." Emi questioned him further, "why didn't you kill us? Why let us live?" He disclosed, "My rules were different than yours last game; in addition to finishing the 3-mile race, I had to kill 3 specific people." He showed her his phone, and it indicated his targets had been people numbered 12, 39, and 46. He added, "That voice warned me that as the wildcard, I wouldn't gain any hours by killing people, and if I killed anyone but my designated victims, I would lose hours equal to theirs." He crossed his legs as he assessed, "It was a fair trade, though; I was given enhanced hearing and vision as the wildcard. Also, I didn't have to deal with any lame rules like losing the ability to talk or hear." His story didn't make sense to her as she interrogated him, "How was it possible one of your targets was number 46 when the highest team number anyone would've had was 45?" He responded nonchalantly, "Oh yeah, you were lied to. There were never 45 teams of 3; there were only 37 teams of 3." He chomped another bite of white flesh from his apple as he stated, "There were also 3 teams of 4 people and 6 teams of 2 people, 46 teams in all. It was probably implemented in such a way as to promote confusion and sow distrust among the teams. I'm pretty sure you and Sasha were one of the teams of 2." Emi still hadn't decided how much she could trust him, but she couldn't fashion a theory of how lying about the last game would benefit him at all now. As he nibbled at the core of his apple, something still bothered her. She pushed him, "So, why did you follow us if you knew we were number 14?" He finished his apple and tossed it across the room with expert marksmanship into the trashcan by the entrance to the kitchen. He replied, "I only followed you in the beginning to learn your numbers, so I left when I saw you were number 14. As I hunted for my prey, I heard numerous phones ring at the same exact time all around me, indicating players were most likely not calling each other but instead getting more rules, rules I wasn't getting as the wildcard. I climbed the highest tree I could find to use my enhanced vision to look for clues, and spotted you again. I noticed Sasha was on the phone, so I called him after his call ended but he didn't yield much information because he couldn't talk." Rico stretched his slim yet toned arms and cracked his knuckles as he noted, "I didn't follow you anymore after that, but I did run into you at the end of the game. Those guys that attacked you in the rain were waiting at the edge of the winner's circle and killing anyone that they came across." Emi asked with an accusatory intonation, "You just watched us as we almost died?" Rico shrugged, "I observed a lot of things last game and listened to even more. Just my nature." He leaned forward as he rested his head in his hand and declared, "You survived though, didn't you? Your own strength saved you, that's what's important." Feeling their difference in ideology would lead to a pointless debate, Emi inquired, "Are you still the wild card right now?" He answered in an almost disappointed sigh, "No, I don't know if that affiliation even exists in this round." She eyed him suspiciously, promoting him to ask, "Seriously?" He snorted with an air of indignation as he showed her his phone had no new texts, calls, or any kind of orders since the last game. It was reassuring he seemed to be presenting the truth to her but she still cringed when she noticed he had 3,729 hours. The room was silent for a moment, and he asked, "Something wrong?" She said, "Just thinking, how did you know I was in here? You called me outside the door." He responded, "That's easy, your room said Emily Wyatt on the bronze nameplate. I heard you tell Sasha your name was Emi last round so I was confident it was you." She ran her hand through her hair, started to ask a question then stopped. She thought for a moment, then asked, "Why are you here? You've gained my trust temporarily, but what's the point?" He answered with a question of his own, "I'm bored, Aren't you?" Emi was unamused as she said, "Bored isn't the word I would use." He ignored her criticism of his word choice and informed her, "As far as I can tell, we're trapped on some kind of strange hotel floor. The floor we're on consists of one long hallway housing 38 rooms with bronze nameplates, most likely representing the survivors of the last game." His curly hair sprang in lively twists as he shook his head and continued, "I checked, but there's no way to go downstairs or upstairs; the doors won't open, and the elevator doesn't work. So, I rang the doorbell of someone with the nameplate Victor and he answered." Emi was highly vigilant with a sharp nervousness as he detailed casually, "I tried to kill him to see if I could gain hours or push the game forward, but I couldn't harm him. A swing from my machete that should've decapitated him effortlessly accomplished nothing, the blade lost all momentum the second it touched his skin. I tried to strangle him, but again, I couldn't exert any force on him in any meaningful way." She asked him with a bluntness she hadn't anticipated but was proud of nonetheless, "You going to try to kill me next?" He responded in an offhanded yet sincere manner, "Nah, not interested in that right now. I decided it was better to sit down and talk with someone instead." He finished his recounting of events, "After his screams serenaded the halls no one else would answer their doors. I tried buying enhanced strength to bust down the walls to other people's rooms, but it didn't work, the walls absorbed the force. Sasha wouldn't answer my call, but luckily you did." Emi ignored his informal, almost friendly aura and asked, "Any idea what's going on?" He thought out loud, "Nothing conclusive, but if we can't harm each other, then maybe everyone isn't awake yet, and the game can only proceed when all players are present." Emi thought, "That makes sense, actually; our hours are frozen until all players are awake so we don't die while waiting for them to wake up." She remarked, "You've given me a lot to think about. If you'd like me to trust you at all, please give me some time to think alone." He conceded, "Fair enough, I suppose." As he stood up to leave, she made sure to give him a wide berth, spurring him to compliment her, "Your survival instincts are admirable; I can see why you lasted this long." Before he left, he stopped to look over the pictures on her wall. She braced herself for whatever he was about to opine, but he subverted her expectations with a silent exit. As the door rested back in its frame she stepped to it and latched it shut. She leaned on the door as she mulled over all the information she had just been presented before a primitive sense dulled her concentration. She realized with a sudden clarity, "I can smell myself. I stink." She almost laughed, it was an irrational thing to worry about, but it was true. She inspected the gorgeous master bathroom to find it had already been eerily stocked with a pair of identical clothes to what she wore, down to her bra color and brand. The shower also had an assortment of her favorite shampoos and conditioners. She thought about her current situation as she showered, the hot water and intoxicating steam purifying her senses as her body melted, shedding all the disgusting sweat and grime it had accumulated throughout the day. After finishing her shower, she checked the ornate fridge in the kitchen to find it also boasted all her favorite foods, from her go-to healthy dinners to her guilty pleasure junk foods. As she peered at the bottom shelf, an unexpected wave of sadness washed over her. Back home that had been Alex's shelf, the one he had always kept his snacks on. Seeing it full of her food instead depressed her and reminded her they would never enjoy another meal together again.

Before she could recover from this revelation, her phone buzzed. It wasn't Rico, it was the voice, and the final phase was about to begin.